Summer's Beginning
by royalmagician
Summary: The summer of 1938 finds Eugene Roe working the docks of New Orleans in between running errands for his Maman and Grandmere. When he finally has a much deserved free afternoon, he is faced with an unexpected and not wholly welcome diversion.


**A/N: **This is a little one-shot of Eugene's younger life in New Orleans. I was considering maybe extending this into a multi-chapter story and I'd appreciate any opinions on that! Thank you and enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **All rights for to their owners; none of this is mine! This story is a work of fiction and in no way intends to disrespect the valiant heroes these characters are based upon.

* * *

**Summer's Beginning. June, 1938**

* * *

The salty, overpowering odor of fish mixing with sweat under the unrelenting Louisiana sun attacked the nose and senses with its stench. To the dock workers that swarmed the wharfs of New Orleans, as busy as bees, this was an accustomed smell and none paid much mind to it. This included a limber young man, his pale skin tanned by the summer sun, and his thin, sleeveless work shirt clinging to his torso from the sweat. He stood from his task of hauling in the fishing lines—devoid of fish for the day—tying it up to the haul of the fishing boat as it bobbed alongside the docks. He sighed, wiping at his brow though it offered him little relief.

"Hey! Gene!" a young voice cried above the din of the docks. The young man, Eugene, glanced around him with a quirked eyebrow and broke into a smile when he spotted who called his name. Bobbing through the crowds of muscled and tanned dockhands was a familiar mop of dark brown curly hair that belonged to an energetic little boy. The kinship between Eugene and the boy, no older than seven, was undeniable though the boy had bouncing curls atop his head with Gene's hair was relatively short and shot straight up.

"Willie Roe," Eugene laughed as his little brother bounded from the dock and onto the little fishing boat where his older brother stood. "What do you think you're doing, huh?"

"Maman sent me to find you," Willie replied, smiling wide and showing off the gaps in his teeth. "She says you need to hurry and get cleaned up."

"And why is that?" Eugene asked raising a dark brow but nonetheless disembarking from the fishing boat, waving to his foreman signaling he was done for the day, heading from the docks and along the cobblestoned road that ran along the wharf.

"Maman said that Missus Beauregard's granddaughter is arriving today and she wants everyone to be looking their best," Willie replied. Willie and Eugene's mother, Beatrice Roe, was the cook of Missus Eliza Beauregard, sole heir to the Beauregard fishing empire—her late husband's business—and the leading socialite of New Orleans. The formidable old matron had saved the Roe family when she employed Beatrice after they had to evacuate their home in Bayou Chene eleven years ago. Ever since, she had become fond of the Roes, helping Eugene to become employed with the Beauregard fishing boat and allowing Willie to help in her beloved flower garden.

"Granddaughter?" repeated Eugene with a raised brow.

"Yes sir," replied Willie with a nod as they reached a bend in the wharf's road and hurriedly crossed the bridge, avoiding the trucks and carts that vied to get across. On the other side, they cut off onto a footpath that ran from the road, taking them into the more upper crust neighborhoods of New Orleans, soon skirting through the back lawns of the great mansions of the city. Finally, they came upon a hedge and, finding the gate tucked into the emerald leaves, the brothers slipped onto the Beauregard property.

They ambled under the shade of the willows before coming into the flower garden that wrapped around the whole of the Beauregard mansion, leisurely strolling through the garden's path and weaving their way to the kitchen door. Their Maman, most likely having spotted the two boys as soon as they came through the gate from the kitchen window—Beatrice Roe was known to have eyes second only in sharpness to a hawk—bustled onto the back porch to meet them.

"Eugene Roe," she barked, her hands planted firmly on her plump hips. Eugene cringed at that tone in her voice, knowing that he was in trouble. "You are late, young man. Now you hurry inside and make yourself presentable."

Eugene opened his mouth to protest, to say that he had come as soon as Willie had fetched him but the glare gleaming in his Maman's eyes silenced him. Snapping his mouth shut, he rushed passed his Maman and into the large, spacious kitchen of the Beauregard mansion, hurrying into the small washroom that was off of the kitchen. Finding the old tin tub inside already full, he quickly stripped out of his sweaty work clothes and submerged himself in the cold water, scrubbing his skin raw with the brush and soap that lay awaiting him. Dunking his head under the water to wash away the suds, he pulled himself from the tub, shivering, before toweling himself off and grabbing the clothes his Maman had laid out for him. He had come directly from work often enough to have readying himself in a matter of moments down to a fine art.

Stepping from the washroom in clean clothes and finger-combing his hair, he ducked into the laundry room to place his clothes in his mother's hamper she always brought for him. When he entered back into the kitchen he found his Maman combing back Willie's messy curls, trying to tame the unruly mass. Glancing at him, she gave him a warm smile, and said, "Now, don't you look handsome."

He grinned at his Maman, relieved that she no longer was angry with him, as she waved him over to have his hair combed. "Maman," Willie said as their Maman slicked his hair with water, wrinkling his nose as some dripped onto his cheeks. "Why does it matter that Missus Beauregard has us all spiffed up? She doesn't usually mind."

"Well, this is Miss Eileen Lyons' first visit to New Orleans and she's going to be staying with us for a month so the Missus wants to make sure she feels nice and welcomed," their Maman replied with a fond smile as she moved to comb out Gene's hair. "In fact, Miss Eileen's about your age, Eugene."

* * *

Sighing, Eileen Lyons, aged seventeen and freshly arrived to Louisiana from North Carolina, shoved her suitcase into a corner of her closet, finally finished packing. Casting a hand over her face she made her way to the French doors and opened them onto the balcony. Feeling the breeze carried off the river was a welcomed relief from the unrelenting heat of the midday sun. She rested her elbows against the railing of the porch and looked out over her Grandmama's famous gardens, to the murky waters of the Mississippi beyond.

After leaving North Carolina the previous afternoon and being cramped into a train compartment, attempting to sleep with the snores of other passengers piercing the silence just when she was dozing off, her Grandmama had seen it fit to proceed to pay a social visit to her friends' homes—all mansions much like the Beauregard estate—inviting them to tea the following day. When they finally arrived at the Beauregard mansion, a beautifully classic Southern home with soaring columns around the house and wrap-around porches on both of the stories, Eileen wanted nothing more than to nap through the midday heat and rest her travel-worn body. Instead, her Grandmama had arranged a complete introduction to the staff and an extensive tour of the garden. Eileen knew that her Grandmama was only trying to roll out the welcome mat for her, to make her feel at home on her first visit to New Orleans, but she couldn't help but feel irritated.

Shaking her head, she chided herself for such thoughts. With running the Beauregard family business—albeit Uncle Arthur handled financials when he wasn't touring the world—her Grandmama had her hands more than full and she was very gracious to allow Eileen to come and stay. Besides, she consoled herself, Louisiana was sure to be a welcome change in pace from the overbearing environment of boarding school—especially with her graduation fast-approaching, her teachers demanding more and more, and her course load becoming staggering—and the constant business of home, with guests coming in and out every other week to speak with her father.

Eileen grinned, remembering the reaction of her little sister, Ruth-Anne when she had heard of Eileen's trip to Louisiana. Ruth-Anne's dearest ambition was to become a Broadway actress and she had an affinity for dramatic declarations, such as proclaiming that Eileen would surely be eaten by alligators when her train derailed into the swamps of Louisiana, never to make it to the exciting, vibrate city of New Orleans. After a pause, Ruth-Anne added that, should Eileen make it to the city, she was to write a full recount of her adventures and the sights she saw. She also expected to hear about the jazz music New Orleans was famous for.

Looking out across the Mississippi, Eileen found her chances of venturing into the city that bustled on the opposite bank slim to none. As a young lady of higher society, it would practically be unheard of for her to not only go into the city for anything other than a trip to the department store or to eat in the finest of restaurants, but let alone listen to a jazz band, as it was street music and not refined.

Eileen knew she was fortunate to live the life she did—while most of the country was suffering from the economic depression, her family was able to provide more than enough for her and her siblings—but she couldn't help but feel like perhaps the society expectations that she was raised with were suffocating her. 'Perhaps,' she thought as she stared at the lively bustle of New Orleans that seemed to beckon her, 'I need to see what it's like beyond the golden-trimmed life. I need to live a little.'

But then she heard her name being called from somewhere in the house. It was her Grandmama, calling her down to dinner. She turned away from the view, her back resolutely to New Orleans and she hurried to her answer her Grandmama's calls, pushing such thoughts to the back of her mind.

* * *

"Now my dear Eileen," said Mrs. Peabody, one of Missus Beauregard society friends, as she set aside her teacup, "Tell me all about your schooling. Where do you go? What do you study? Hopefully only the gentile arts."

It was nearly a week after Eileen's arrival and it had been full of tea parties, dinners, and social gatherings. Her Grandmama had invited all her friends over to be formally introduced to Eileen that morning at the Beauregard mansion and Eileen, though she knew Grandmama only had the best intentions, was thoroughly bored by it.

"I attend Rosewood School for Girls near Richmond, Virginia," Eileen replied automatically, expecting this question as it seemed to be a favorite among her Grandmama's friends. "We study history, arithmetic, music, drawing, literature, language, and the sciences—I'm most interested in biology. I hope to go into the medical field."

"My!" exclaimed Mrs. Peabody, looking shocked at the news. Eileen furrowed her brows and glanced over to her Grandmama but the older woman was not paying attention to her granddaughter's plight, instead gossiping merrily with her other guests. "And they allow you to do so? Medicine isn't a woman's business!"

"But, Mrs. Peabody, what of Florence Nightingale?" questioned Eileen, as calmly as possible. She had gotten that reaction from every woman in Louisiana she had told her interest and, although society in North Carolina didn't exactly smile upon her choice, they at least did not so openly and vocally oppose it. She tried hard to reign in her frustration but it was a hard feat, especially with Mrs. Peabody's appalled stare fixed on her.

"My dear girl," Mrs. Peabody exclaimed, "Florence Nightingale was a woman of the lower class and not of the social standing of yourself!" Eileen bit the inside of her lip, wanting to correct her that Florence Nightingale was in fact a member of the British higher society but she wisely decided to keep this observation to herself, knowing it would be of little help.

Mrs. Peabody's exclamation drew the attention of the rest of the brunch guests, including the ones Grandmama was regaling with a recount of her cruise in the Mediterranean in the summer of 1926, and Missus Beauregard, taking quick inventory of the situation, safely steered the conversation into safer waters by exclaiming, "Mrs. Peabody, word is that your son has acquired a handsome new racehorse?"

Instantly drawn into the conversation, Eliza Beauregard being a true master hostess, Mrs. Peabody eagerly said, "Why yes, Robert bought the stallion from a Kentucky breeder." Glancing over at her Grandmama as Mrs. Peabody prattled on about the thoroughbred horse of her son's, Eileen caught her Grandmama's eye. The only hint that Missus Beauregard wasn't paying intent attention to her guest's prattle was a slight flick of her blue eyes and a bob in her perfectly curled steel gray hair. The brief flash of blue eyes was enough for Eileen to know that her Grandmama did not blame her for the disturbance but she wasn't pleased with her either.

Eileen sighed. She knew it was foolish and childish to be so easily riled by these old society women and she knew better than to broach delicate conversations such as that, one that would cause argument. Both her mother and father had made sure to raise her so that she was armed for the fight of small talk since, as her mother would say, companies weren't expanded in a conference room over piles of papers but rather in a parlor over tea. She was raised to know better.

Her face flushed red in embarrassment and frustration, listening only partially to Mrs. Peabody and the other ladies as the conversation continued, the hours dragging by until noon. At that glorious hour, the society matriarchs began to depart from the Beauregard home like grand old warships sailing from their port of call. Excusing herself from where her Grandmama and Mrs. Harrison chatted amiably on the porch, Eileen wandered back into the mansion, her feet carrying her in a slow, plodding pace to her room.

Forcing herself to not flop onto the bed in frustration, she changed out of her robin shell blue tea dress and into a simple lavender day dress. Settling herself onto the chaise lounge situated in the corner, she sighed in frustration. On one hand, she knew it was wrong to lose her temper but on the other hand, she didn't regret it. After a long moment, there was a knock on the door and her Grandmama entered. "Oh, sweetheart," she sighed at the sight of Eileen.

The matron made her slow way across the room to settle at the foot of the lounge, taking possession of Eileen's hands and giving them a comforting squeeze. "I'm not mad with you, Eileen. I only wish you wouldn't let them rattle you up," her Grandmama said in her soothing southern accent. "I know they're difficult sometimes, they even frustrate _me_ and they're _my _friends."

Eileen nodded, wishing she could say what she thought, 'Why do you make me sit through brunches and teas and dinners with them then?' but she held her tongue.

Missus Beauregard waited for a moment for Eileen to respond but when her granddaughter remained silent, she knew that she needed to be left alone for a time. Patting Eileen's hand, her Grandmama said, "I'm going out for the afternoon on some errands to Saks Fifth Avenue and then Tiffany's—I hope you don't mind if I pick you up a few things?—and then to Mrs. Cornell's for afternoon tea. I shan't be back until late. Will you be alright here?"

Eileen mutely nodded once more before her Grandmama leaned forward to kiss her affectionately on the cheek. "I'll check in on you when I return, sweetie." With that, she rose gracefully and departed from Eileen's room with a soft click of the door after it closed behind her. Eileen blinked at the door for a long moment before she rose from the lounge and walked out onto the balcony to stare out over New Orleans.

It had become the place she came to more and more often, especially with the mounting social events that occupied her schedule. She would gaze at the city for hours, standing in silence and listening to the chatter of the birds, the soft hum of the insects, and the wind as it rippled through the willow trees. She would stand and think and listen.

But now, at the sight of New Orleans she was overcome with a sudden impulse. Without sparing another thought, she was hurrying back into her room, snatching up her hand bag and slipping on her most comfortable black patent leather heels as she went. Entering into the hall, she was careful to proceed unobserved and she paused at the top of the landing, listening as the car's motor could be heard rumbling away, growing steadily fainter.

When it was gone, she descended the grand staircase and hurried to one of the side doors of the house. Easing it open—she didn't want to alert the staff as they no doubt were told by her Grandmama to keep an eye on her—she slipped from the house and onto the veranda. Careful not to let her heels clatter on the wooden boards of the porch, she descended into the flower garden, weaving her way through the carefully manicured flowerbeds, hoping that no one happened to glance out of the windows just at that moment. She was making a beeline for the gate in the hedges that she had been shown on the first day.

Just when she reached the gate and was attempting to open it noiselessly a voice called, "Miss Lyons?"

She froze; her spine stiffening. 'Caught,' she thought. Turning slowly she caught sight of the cook's older son, the one she had been introduced to the first day along with the rest of the estate's staff. He stood not far from her, a confused expression across his face though it soon was replaced with suspicion.

"Miss Lyons, if you're thinking of sneaking out, I can tell you that ain't such a good idea," he said, the tone in his Cajun accent polite yet firm.

Eileen suppressed a sigh—she _knew_ her Grandmama had told the staff to keep an eye on her. Pushing the thought aside, she asked, meeting his gaze evenly, "I suppose you're going to stop me?"

"I can't let you go out into the city all on your own, Miss Lyons," he replied in way of response, his voice still polite; she _was_ his employer's granddaughter after all.

"Then why don't you come with me?" Eileen challenged, arching an eyebrow. She didn't actually think he would accept her offer, but posing it seemed to take its effect.

He opened and closed his mouth for a moment, clearly at a loose for words before he said firmly, "No."

"Eugene," she began, hoping she remembered his name correctly. "Nothing you can do will stop me so you're either going to let me wander around alone or you can come with." Eugene let out a long sigh before frowning at her. Wordless he brushed past her and easily swung the gate open, motioning for her to go first. With a triumphant smile, Eileen led the way through the gate and along the footpath beyond.

* * *

Eugene never would have thought a half an hour ago that, when his mother informed him that they were to keep an eye on Miss Lyons before he headed out for his afternoon off, he would be on the streets of New Orleans with Miss Lyons herself, playing tour guide. He supposed he was keeping an eye on her like he was supposed to, but the thought did little to cheer him. He did not enjoy being practically bullied into coming with her and that meant he wasn't going to spend his much-deserved free afternoon as he pleased.

Currently, the two were strolling down Royal Street of the French quarter, the street bustling with the clatter of carriage horses, the chatter of patrons, the horns of cars, and the shouts of vendors. To be more accurate, Eileen was strolling and Eugene was slouching along, clearly unhappy. Eugene, though having lived in New Orleans for the past eleven years of his life, did not particularly enjoy the French quarter, despite the beautiful detail of the buildings, the liveliness of it all, and being part Cajun himself.

Eileen on the other hand, seemed to be drinking it all in, hurrying ahead of him to peer into storefront windows and gazing about with wide, excited eyes. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at her as he would lengthen his strides to keep pace with her. As they passed a pair of men, obviously at the bottle despite it still being early in the afternoon, one called out in a drunken slur, "Bonjour il ya belle, vous voulez voir les chambres françaises?"

Glaring at them, Eugene shot back, "Va te faire foutre, vous merde!" just as Eileen turned her head to them and replied sweetly, "Aussi longtemps que vous n'êtes pas là."

The two drunks were stunned into silence as Eugene blinked at her in shock. "Miss Lyons, you can speak French?" Eugene asked, attempting to conceal his surprise.

She offered no reply as she caught sight of a street jazz band on the opposite of the street that was cumulating a crowd around them. Eileen, with a grin spread across her face, hurried across the street, calling over her shoulder, "Come on, Eugene!"

Sighing, Eugene attempted to protest but it was futile as his words fell on deaf ears. All he could do was follow helplessly after her. By the time he joined her, she was swaying to the music as the saxophone and trumpet players began a lively set that Eugene had to consciously resist the urge to tap his toe along to.

After the song was done, the lead musician asked for requests. Stepping forward, Eileen asked, "How about _They Can't Take That Away From Me_ from 'Shall We Dance?'"

"Well, what do you think, folks?" the musician asked the crowd, obviously the showman. "Shall we oblige the little lady?" There was a general cheer of agreement and he nodded saying, "I take that as a yes, but little miss, you're going to have to sing along with us."

Eileen opened her mouth to protest but the music had already started. It wasn't the same slow rhythm as the movie's song, rather it was picked up with all the flares and pizzazz of jazz music which seemed to draw in all the listeners and Eileen couldn't help but smile. The introduction played, extended by the brass section, and finally Eileen heard her cue.

Eugene watched all the proceeds with a mixture of horror and amusement and when Eileen opened her mouth to sing, he wasn't entirely sure what to expect. Her voice started off frail and meek, obviously unsure of herself. She glanced around the crowd, a weak smile on her face and her eyes fell on him—the only familiar face. Nodding to her encouragingly despite himself, she grinned back at him and by the end of the first stanza, she had opened her mouth wide and was singing as loud and best she could.

The crowd cheered wildly for her as she paused and began in with the chorus, the saxophone accompanying her. She beamed brightly at that and then turned to the crowd, smiling and interacting with them like a true performer. When she got to the last refrain of the chorus, when the song is supposed to dwindle into a slow ending, instead the band picked up the tempo even further, making it lively and Eileen, more out of natural instinct, found herself taking Eugene's hand, though he protested mightily, and dancing with him as she finished out the song.

When the band finally ended it with a magnificent crescendo, the crowd burst into cheers and enthusiastic applause. Grinning, the band leader exclaimed, once their audience had grown quiet enough to be heard over, "Isn't she wonderful, ladies and gentlemen?" The crowd burst into applause once more. Under the cover of the noise, the band leader winked at Eileen, saying, "If you want to join us, just let me know. You have one good voice once you got going."

Eileen blushed, saying, "I'm very flattered but, no, thank you."

The man shrugged and after hurriedly excusing herself, Eileen rushed from the center of the crowd. Eugene turned to follow her, his face a bright red, but the band leader caught his arm, saying, "That's one hell of a girl you have there, son. You make sure to keep her."

Eugene opened his mouth to stutter out that she _wasn't_ his girl—they weren't even friends, for Pete's sake!—but the band leader had already returned to the crowd and started into their next song. Shaking his head, Eugene hurried off from the musicians in the direction Eileen went, spotting her after he emerged from the crowd. She was sitting on a bench looking down cast and still red in the face from her impromptu performance.

Sighing—this certainly wasn't how Eugene had planned to spend his day—he crossed to her and sat slowly onto the bench beside her. There was a long, heavy moment and finally Eugene asked, "Miss Lyons?"

"Eugene, what am I doing?" Eileen questioned.

"Well, miss, you're sitting on a bench," Eugene replied, practically. He was proud of himself when a brief smile flashed onto her face, but it was fleeting as her expression soon fell again.

"I meant what am I doing in New Orleans?" she clarified, gesturing to their surroundings. Eugene offered no reply, not trusting himself not to say something biting about wasting his afternoon off. She continued, "Usually, I'm not like this! I never do anything like this—I mean, I just sang along with a jazz band!"

Eugene stared at her for one long moment, weighing his options. On one hand, he had been forcibly dragged—more or less—into helping her sneak out against her grandmother's, his benefactress, employer, and mother's employer, wishes; whether it was indirectly or not. This would be the perfect moment to usher Miss Lyons back home to safety, their little excursion to not result with any trouble whatsoever for her or him and Eugene could have the rest of the evening to himself. It seemed like the logical choice.

But, looking at her, he knew it wasn't the right one. Eugene always prided himself on being fairly good at reading people, his Maman said it was a gift inherited from his grandma, and he could read Eileen like an open book. He frowned at what he saw and finally he said, boosting himself to his feet said, "Well, maybe it's time you did more things like that, huh?" He paused and he offered his hand to her, continuing, "C'mon Miss Lyons, I know a little place that serves the best beignets—guaranteed to right every problem."

Blinking at his hand for a moment, glancing up at him as a weak smile spread across her face, she accepted his hand.

* * *

"Now this, Miss Lyons," Eugene said in his Cajun drawl, handing Eileen her beignets coated in powdered sugar and honey wrapped in wax paper, "Is a true New Orleans delicacy." She accepted the fried pastry, thanking him before promptly sinking her teeth into the desert. Settling into his chair across the little table from her, Eugene watched her for a moment in amusement as she chewed and swallowed, sighing in contentment.

"Good, huh?" he asked with a smile and she glanced over at him, nodding enthusiastically as she polished off her first beignets and moved onto her second, a powdered sugar mustache already forming. Chuckling, he handed her a napkin and they fell into companionable silence, both making quick work of their beignets.

Eugene had guided her to the Café du Monde along the French Quarter and, after finding a table for them, had left her to go order their pastries. Watching him, Eileen was struck with the thought that he was being particularly kind to her, especially as she had practically dragged him along with her on her wayward adventure. After singing with the jazz band, it seemed that the adrenaline from her sudden impulse had worn off and now she was left feeling ashamed of herself for her rash actions. She was raised to be better than that—she was typically responsible and practical—but there was that single moment of a most uncharacteristic decision that now landed her sitting across from Eugene Roe, the son of the Beauregard family cook.

She knew he was being extremely generous to her, not only insisting on paying for their beignets but also he did not take the opportunity to herd her back to the mansion when he very well could have. Instead he was sitting with her, gazing out the shop's window with a contented expression and observing the bustling street.

Eileen finished her beignets with this thought, mopping up the crumbs on her mouth with the napkins Gene offered her. "There now, all better, huh?"

Eileen smiled, saying, "Thanks Eugene, and not just for the beignets."

Eugene shrugged, embarrassed, and said, "Shall we be going then?"

"What do you have in mind?" Eileen asked.

"Well," Eugene began, pushing himself up from his chair, "You did say you wanted to see the city."

Smiling, Eileen hurried from her chair to fall into step with Eugene. He held the door open for her and off they went into the streets of New Orleans. They walked aimlessly for hours, pausing to peer into shop windows and even leisurely meandering through the open-air market. As they walked by a row of brick buildings, all embellished with the intricate iron work common to the French quarter, Eugene stopped, saying, "Do you mind if we stop in to see my Grandmère? She just lives right here and I promised her I would see her this afternoon."

"Oh sure," Eileen agreed, bobbing her head. Eugene smiled gratefully and lead her up to one of the white doors of one of the building's visages, easily opening it and leading her through a main lobby, obviously of an apartment building, and up to the second story. They trotted down a short stretch of hall to a door marked number seven.

Knocking on the door, he called out, "Grandmère? C'est moi, Eugene!"

"Ahh! Gene, entrer, entrer!" was the reply from within. Eugene smiled, leading the way from the hallway and into a tidy little sitting room. The room was old-fashioned in style but neatly kept, with floral wallpaper and lace doilies on every wooden surface. Sitting before a large window was an old woman with perfectly white hair, she had her hands clasped before her in prayer and she just finished with an 'amen' when the two entered into the room. Her eyes peered open and Eileen was surprised to see the sharpness in her murky brown gaze.

"Bonjour, Grandmère," Eugene greeted affectionately, going over to her to give her forehead a kiss.

Giving his hand a brief pat, she focused her sharp eyes on Eileen who stood modestly by the door. With a teasing smile, she asked of Eugene, "Pourquoi ne dites-tu que vous avez une amie avec toi?" Turning from him, she said to Eileen, "Excusez-moi, my dear girl. If I had known mon petit fils was bringing you along I would have had tea waiting for you. Please, come sit with me."

"Merci, madame," Eileen replied with a shy smile, taking the proffered armchair across from the older woman.

"He never has much time to tell his old grandmère anything. He's always rushing about," she continued, informing Eileen with a grin before turning to Eugene, saying, "The paste for Mrs. LeBlanc is in the kitchen, would you go in and bottle that up for your old grandmère?"

"Oui," Eugene replied, looking embarrassed.

When he had disappeared from the sitting room, presumably to the kitchen, she turned to Eileen saying in her Cajun drawl, "I do enjoy teasing the boy. He is much too polite sometimes."

Eileen chuckled in response before asking, "Pardon my asking, when you said paste, did you mean for medical purposes? Are you a nurse?"

"Ah, non. I am what we Cajuns call a 'traiteur,' or traiteuse in my case. I am called on to lay hands on the sick and pray for them," Grandmère Roe explained. "We pray for God to take away the pain from the patient. And—well, you don't want to hear an old woman ramble, now do you?"

"No, please, continue," Eileen implored. "My dearest ambition is to become a nurse."

"C'est vrai?" the older woman said, seeming surprised. "Pourquoi?"

Thanking her French teacher from boarding school and drilling the language into her head, which now made it possible for Eileen understand the conversation that slipped into French every so often, she replied, "If you don't mind the story?"

"S'il vous plaît," Grandmère Roe replied, motioning for her to tell the tale.

Taking a deep breath, Eileen began, "When I was a little girl, Freddie—my older brother—Ruth-Anne—my little sister—and I had found a little fledgling sparrow with a broken wing crumpled on the ground. My siblings told me it was no use, the sparrow was as good as done for, but I ignored them. I suppose it was a childish determination, but I nurtured the little bird back to health. Ever since I've wanted to help heal."

Grandmère Roe sat in silence through the short tale and at the end exclaimed with delight, "C'est bon! Ma fille, there is no work more righteous in the world than that of healing. After fifty years of my job, I never tire of helping those in need."

Just then Eugene entered back into the room, carrying two glass jars with a pale red paste in each. "This is not for healing," the older man said, indicating the jars, "But rather for cooking a mighty fine tomato sauce." Eileen laughed at that as the elderly woman said to Eugene, "Tell Mrs. LeBlanc no charge and neither is my help in her son's recovery."

"You don't charge people for your work?" Eileen asked, turning red as soon as she blurted out the forward question.

"The work I do is through God and to charge for it would be a sin," replied Grandmère  
Roe with an easy smile. "Now you two be on your way. Don't want Eugene spending all his free afternoon with his old grandmère and not his belle, jeune fille."

Standing, Eileen reached out a hand to the elderly woman, who patted her hand fondly. "It was an honor to meet you, Madam Roe," Eileen said, "You've been a great inspiration to me."

Grandmère Roe smiled up at her and then Eileen stepped back, Eugene soon filling the space she vacated so as to lean and kiss his Grandmère once more, saying, "Au revoir."

As he leaned back, she said to Eugene in a low voice so Eileen could not hear it, "Vous être bon pour elle, Eugene. Elle est une jeune femme remarquable, je peux dire." Eugene opened his mouth to say that Eileen was _not_ his girl, but then his Grandmère was shooing them on their way.

When they stepped back outside again, Eileen smiled brightly at Eugene saying, "She's an incredible woman. I like her." Eugene glanced at her darkly before they set out once more.

Two hours later, after stopping by the LeBlanc residence, Eugene and Eileen strolled along the riverfront, watching as dusk fell over the city and the lights began to flicker on. The hum of the cicadas filled the air and the gentle breeze off the Mississippi relieved that heat of the day that lingered on the skin.

The two walked in companionable silence, as they had fallen into most of the day, both devoted to their own thoughts. Eileen was thinking of Grandmère Roe when something she said finally clicked in her mind. "Eugene," she began slowly, "Did you have the afternoon off?"

"Huh?" he said glancing over at, suddenly pulled from his own musings. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Something that your grandmother said," she replied.

"Well, yeah, I had it off," he said with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"'Gene, I'm sorry," Eileen exclaimed. Eugene could feel himself go red at the use of his nickname. "I'm sorry for dragging you around like this the whole entire day."

"Now, if I'm being frank, Miss Lyons," Eugene replied, honestly, "I'm a little upset about it but really, spending this afternoon showing you around is a lot more fun than I would have had if I hadn't found you trying to sneak through that gate."

Eileen laughed at his honesty. Smiling, he continued, "Now, c'mon, let's go get something to eat." He gestured to one of the restaurants that lined the streets. It was a beautiful old building with pastel pink bricks and green shutters, illuminated with the glow of lights, jazz music drifting from it. A group was filing through the entrance, over which it read, 'Tiana's Palace' in glittering lights. "The owners are good friends of mine."

Leading her by the arm, Eugene ushered her through the doors and they found themselves in a lively restaurant, most of the tables filled while a band on the opposite side of the room was striking up a lively swing tune. A woman in a stylish green dress came bustling up to them, greeting Eugene with a wide smile. "Well, look who wandered in! Eugene Roe, I haven't seen you in heaven's knows how long!"

"Hello, Miss Tiana," Eugene replied with a smile. "Think you can squeeze us in somewhere?"

"For my favorite Eugene Roe? Of course!" she replied before turning her bright smile on Eileen, saying, "Why don't you introduce me to your young lady, Eugene?"

"Oh, Miss Tiana, this is Eileen Lyons. Miss Lyons, this is Miss Tiana," Eugene introduced, flushing at the knowing glance Miss Tiana sent him.

"It's lovely to meet you, Miss Eileen," Miss Tiana said with a smile before saying as she set off, expertly weaving her way through the tables, "Now I think I have just the place for you two." She lead them to a table closest to the stage and the band on it, which also meant they were right next to the dance floor, couples already dancing there despite it being still the early hours of the evening. "You two enjoy yourselves," Miss Tiana said after the two were seated, casting them both a wink before bustling off.

"How do you know her?" Eileen couldn't help but inquire.

"My Grandmère took care of her when she sprained her ankle a few years back," Eugene replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I helped her husband here when she couldn't walk."

"Ah," Eileen said with a nod before both turned to their menus. "What do you recommend?" she questioned after a moment.

"Well, everything on the menu is classic Louisiana cooking, so of course it's all good," Eugene began making Eileen laugh and shake her head. "_But_ my personal favorite is the Creole shrimp gumbo, a house special."

"I'll take your advice then, Mr. Roe," she said just as their waiter arrived with a basket of fresh bread and a selection of cheeses for them to nibble on. They soon took their orders, both asking for a Coca-Cola to go along with their meals to wash it down before the waiter gathered their menus and was off once more.

"What do you think, Miss Lyons?" Eugene inquired after they had settled themselves with their choices of bread and cheese.

"Of what?" Eileen prompted, glancing up at him with a raised brow as the waiter returned with their drinks. They both thanked him and were once again left by themselves.

"Of New Orleans," clarified Eugene.

"Ah, well," Eileen replied, taking a sip of her drink thoughtfully. "I have for the last week stood on my balcony and stared out across the Mississippi, imaging the city to be so wonderful and great. I can honestly say that today was completely beyond my expectations."

Eugene laughed slightly at that, albeit nervously, and mumbled, "I thought you were going somewhere different with that; I was worried."

Smiling, Eileen teased, "Really 'Gene, you should have more confidence in your guide capabilities."

"Yeah, I should buy a trolley and ferry tourists around town," Eugene replied with a wiry smile.

Eileen laughed, rolling her eyes before her attention was caught by the thump of the drums from the band, giving an introduction to a swing-style song. Sure enough, a moment later, the brass section came, loud and lively. She smiled, recognizing the song, and turned to Eugene, saying, "I love this song! Eugene, do you want to dance?"

"Our food—" Eugene began, suddenly finding himself scrambling for an excuse of any kind.

"We'll be back before it's here, I promise," interrupted Eileen, anxious to hurry so as not to miss the best parts of the song. "Please, Eugene?"

He stared at her for one long moment before frowning and standing nonetheless. Eileen grabbed his hand with a smile, half-dragging him out onto the dance floor. The two faced each other, Eugene's face already flushed, and Eileen assured him, "Don't worry about the steps; just follow my lead."

Eugene resisted the urge to say, rather bluntly, that it wasn't the dance steps he was worried about. Unfortunately, or fortunately—he wasn't entirely sure—he was too embarrassed to say much of anything. Nonetheless, when the band picked up with the refrain with the trumpets and trombones, Eugene matched her movements kick for kick and shimmy for shimmy. Soon, they were at the center of the dance floor, all the other couples having formed a circle around them, clapping along to the rhythm.

But neither Eugene nor Eileen noticed. They were too focused on each other's movements and steps, making sure to match every single step the other did. Eugene grabbed her hand and she swung out, her lavender skirts whipping out around her, before she twirled back in, Eugene easily catching her. To the casual observer, the couple appeared to be two sweethearts dancing their hearts out for one another.

Finally, the last note was played and more out of impulse than thought, Eugene dipped her down for their big finish. When the band cut off their sound, joining the applause of the rest of the restaurant for Eileen and Eugene, the two seemed to take notice of their surroundings for the first time. He sheepishly set Eileen back on her feet and the two hurriedly exited the dance floor to the whistles of many onlookers. When they finally sat and the band had once again struck up again—attention drifting away from them—Eugene found himself grinning like an idiot at Eileen, which was mirrored on her face.

There was a moment before they both broke out into peals of laughter. "I can't believe we just did that," Eugene managed to choke out.

Eileen just shook her head as she laughed her boisterous laugh, her smile beaming. Once she had contained herself, she exclaimed, "I can't believe how good of a dancer you are!"

"Well, you're not too shabby yourself," replied Eugene with a teasing grin.

"Gee thanks," Eileen dryly said though she returned his grin. Eugene's smile grew at that and just then their gumbo arrived. They thanked their waiter once more and both tucked into their meal, making easy conversation between them as they did their best not to slurp.

It seemed as if a barrier that had been separating them, the barrier that all people face when first making the acquaintance of someone that separates them from becoming friends, had lifted. They now talked easily with one another, not afraid to say their thoughts.

"Gees Louise," Eileen exclaimed after she took a gulp of Coca-Cola, washing down the burning gumbo that stung her tongue. "This is hot stuff."

"Really? You think so?" Eugene asked, genuinely surprised.

Eileen sent him a teasing frown, saying, "Alright, Cajun-boy, just because you grew up eating hot peppers for snacks doesn't mean the rest of us have."

Eugene grinned at that before inquiring, "The gumbo not to your taste?"

She took another hesitant sip at the gumbo before replying, "Well, once you get past your mouth being on fire, it really is quite good." Eugene chuckled at that, watching as she polished off her first glass of Coca-Cola. The grand total for the evening would be six Cokes—plus two of Eugene's—but by the end of it Eileen looked contented and Eugene couldn't help but shake his head fondly at her.

It was nearing nine o'clock by the time the desert trolley came by their table, Eileen insisting they share a order of beignets—Eugene teasingly saying that she was now officially addicted—and then it came time for the bill, which was half-off courtesy of Miss Tiana. "Now, Eugene, I insist," Eileen was saying as she pulled the ticket towards her. "You've been kind enough to me today. I insist on thanking you by paying."

"Really, Miss Lyons, it's impolite for me to let you pay," Eugene replied, pulling the ticket back towards him.

"Not if I insist that I want to," Eileen replied. The stand-off lasted for another few minutes until the waiter arrived and Eileen practically shoved the money at him before Eugene could so much as reach for his wallet. The waiter, looking confused as he went, hurried away from their table. Eileen sent a triumphant smile to Eugene and he rolled his eyes, mumbling.

After bidding farewell to Miss Tiana—both of them complimenting her on her wonderful establishment—and she insisted they come back at any time and show-off to everyone their dancing. She sent a conspiring wink to Eugene, who turned red for the umpteenth time that day, and waved them on their way.

As they walked along the wharf, Eileen looped her arm with Eugene's, yawning as she did. "Well, I'm exhausted," she sighed, contently. "This is has possibly been the best day of my life. Thank you, 'Gene."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Lyons," Eugene replied with a genuine smile.

Eileen smiled faintly before saying, "You don't need to call me 'Miss Lyons' all the time, you know. My first name is Eileen."

"Miss Lyons, I don't think—" Eugene began to say.

"Oh, come on, it's not _that_ hard of a name to pronounce," Eileen teased.

Eugene chuckled at that, saying, "You sure have a smart mouth on you, Miss Eileen."

Shaking her head at that, Eileen decided that it was at least progress and didn't pester him about it. Instead, she breathed in the cool night air, saying, "What a beautiful night." Eugene hummed his agreement but offered no other form of reply, the two instead falling into a companionable silence, enjoying the evening together.

When they were just about to the bridge that would take them to the side of the Mississippi that the Beauregard mansion was on, they came across a rowdy group of dapperly dressed dandies, laughing and joking with one another loudly. Eugene, having lived in New Orleans long enough to recognize their type, did well to steer Eileen away from them, putting her on the other side of him, but just when they were passing, one of the young men stumbled out from the group and crashed into Eugene.

Only slightly staggering, Eugene reached his hands out to steady the dandy, saying politely, "Who, steady there, friend."

"Get your hands off me, _Cajun," _the man replied, wrenching himself away from Eugene's steadying grip, spitting out the word like it was poison. The man rejoined his group of friends, the rest of them laughing at the dandy or throwing insults over their shoulder at Eugene before they continued of their way. Not lingering to hear their vile words, Eugene pulled Eileen along by the arm.

"Eugene? Eugene, what was that?" Eileen asked in confusion, glancing back at the retreating back of the men as Eugene led them from the bridge and onto the footpath.

Eugene didn't reply for a long moment as they continued along in the shadows of the willow trees. When he finally did, he let out a long sigh, saying, "Miss Eileen, my people, the Cajuns, aren't really accepted in New Orleans. We aren't treated as bad as some folk are but we aren't exactly welcome either."

"So you have to put up with being treated like that? And you just take it?" Eileen prodded, her tone shocked.

"Yeah," replied Eugene, not nodding as it was too dark in the shadows to see each other too clearly. He refrained from mentioning that most of the people that treated Cajuns like garbage were the people of high society, like Eileen. He knew that Missus Beauregard had been highly criticized for employing Eugene's family but the old woman was too hard headed to listen to anyone's opinion save her own. "There's not much we can do about—starting fights would only make it worse and the police don't mind much. Heck, the government even forces the Cajun kids raised speaking French to speak English in school though they don't know a lick of it. My little brother, Willie, has scars from his knuckles being hit so much."

Eileen was silent for a moment before mumbling, "That's not fair." Eugene nodded, though he knew she couldn't see him. The pair continued along in silence until they reached the gate in the hedge. Eugene opened it for her but didn't follow as she stepped through. Turning back to him, Eileen gave him a smile. "Well, this is me. Thanks again for everything, Eugene."

"You're much obliged, Miss Eileen," Eugene replied, smiling. "Are you sure you'll be alright getting in?"

Glancing over her shoulder at the illuminated mansion, she replied, "I think I'll find my way." Eugene chuckled at that before Eileen turned back to him. He didn't realize what she was doing until she was leaning towards him. For a heart-stopping moment, he was frozen in shock, but then she placed a soft kiss on his cheek and said, "Good night, Eugene."

Before he could stammer out a reply, she was gone, already a shadow on the lawn as she weaved her way back to the mansion. Closing the gate, he shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched back the way he had come. He knew his Maman would be furious with him if he didn't get home—but then again it _was_ his afternoon off, so she would expect him to be a little late getting in—his mind filled with memories of the day. It replied every moment of it and he found his thoughts revolving around Miss Eileen Lyons.

* * *

**A/N: **Please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! (Also obvious Princess and the Frog reference is obvious.)

_Translations from French_

Bonjour il ya belle, vous voulez voir les chambres françaises?: Hello there beautiful, you want to see the French _Chambers? _

Va te faire foutre, vous merde!: Fuck you, you shit!

Aussi longtemps que vous n'êtes pas là: As long as you're not there

entrer, entrer: enter, enter

Bonjour, Grandmère: Hello Grandmother

Pourquoi ne dites-tu que vous avez une amie avec toi?: Why didn't you say you had a friend with you?

Excusez-moi...mon petit fils: Excuse me...my grandson

C'est vrai? Pourquoi?: Is that right? Why?

S'il vous plait: If you please

C'est bon! Ma fille: That's good! My girl...

Au revoir: Goodbye

Vous être bon pour elle, Eugene. Elle est une jeune femme remarquable, je peux dire.: You be good to her, Eugene. She's a remarkable young woman, I can tell.


End file.
